Lost
by Gmariam
Summary: Albus Potter is lost: guilt and grief have driven him to a desperate search for the Deathly Hallows, and Harry confronts his son before it is too late. With the help of his brother, Albus must now journey deep within to conquer the darkness that surrounds him. Will he find what he seeks? Or will Albus be lost to his loved ones forever?
1. Chapter 1 Confrontation

Story notes:  
This story is rated M for the following warnings: violence, suicide attempt, character death, slash, violence, and language. Please read and review with these subjects in mind.

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Chapter One - Confrontation

The darkness was complete: Harry could see nothing and felt the sinister gloom wrap around him like a malevolent snake threatening to strangle his last hope. He raised his wand to light the way, and for the first time in many years, the soft glow was unable to chase away the shadows.

It had been many years, too, since he had been in the Forbidden Forest. A sense of foreboding surrounded him like fog; the trees were a living presence that mocked his passage, while forest creatures crept around him, murmuring with unseen malice. Black roots leaped from the ground to trip him, and chill breezes whispered tauntingly, whipping the cloak around his ankles. Harry shivered and was transported back to his first journey into the forest, so long ago, and the paralyzing fear that had closed around him. And then another trip into the forest, many years after: a trip that had changed not only his own life, but perhaps the course of magical history—

He shook himself, forcing aside memories of the past to concentrate on the present. He felt a different fear pushing at the edges of his mind: the fear of loss tinged with despair, as well as the anger he always felt when death and magic threatened those he loved.

For that was what he fought once again: ancient magic and the desperate desires it promised to satisfy, when in truth it could never fulfill such dreams, but only warped the soul. Harry was not fighting his son, for Albus had been cunningly lead down a subtle path, lined with painful grief that made him vulnerable. No, he was not fighting Albus, but his son's furious anguish, pain, and hopeless yearning for what he had lost.

A cry split the night nearby, startling Harry and sending goose pimples down his flesh. The beasts of the forest roamed invisible around him, seemed to haunt his every step. He steeled himself and raised his wand higher, desperately trying to drown out the dark with the dim light from his wand. A sudden longing for the Elder Wand surprised him, for he had given little thought to the Deathly Hallows for almost three decades; but they had, in part, drawn him back here, so it was only natural that he would find himself thinking of the magical talisman he had hidden away not far behind him on the grounds of Hogwarts.

Another lay lost in the dirt, dropped long ago and presumed lost forever. It was that object which drew Albus into the Forest, drove his last remaining hope over the edge toward obsession. But the ring Harry had lost during his final battle with Voldemort would not bring back his son's loss, and Harry regretted ever telling his children the story of the Deathly Hallows, because it had given Albus such hopeless faith.

The third Hallow was tucked into his robes, an old habit he had never given up, and Harry fingered it as if to reassure himself that the cloak was still there. He shook his head of memories and remorse and plunged on into the shadows. He slowed as he heard quiet noise: the sound of the earth being overturned, and the restless muttering of his son, desperately digging for the Resurrection Stone.

Albus was covered in dirt; his arms were scratched, and his clothes were ripped and torn. He knelt on the ground in a familiar clearing, lit by a tongue of blue fire. It was the clearing where Aragog had once lived, where Voldemort and his forces had gathered for their last great battle. His wand tossed to the side, Albus clawed at the ground with his bare hands, throwing aside leaves and sticks and dirt, his face set with determination.

"Albus," Harry called softly, lowering his wand and placing it in his robes so he would not appear threatening. The boy—the man—in the clearing looked up, and his face was hollow and gaunt from weeks and months of suffering in silence. The once sparkling green eyes had lost their brightness, and his mouth was a straight line of stoic sadness permanently etched across a pale face.

Albus gazed blankly at his father, scowled, then returned to his frantic work. "Go away, Dad."

"Albus," replied Harry, his heart breaking. "Come home. It's not here. You can't find it, it's lost forever."

Albus ignored him, and Harry moved into the clearing. "It won't bring him back."

Albus shot him a glare of anger over his shoulder as he picked up his wand and moved away to another section of the clearing to continue searching. "What do you know?" he snarled.

Harry felt his own prickly temper, near to the surface due to his anxiety and dark memories of this place, flare dangerously. "I'm the only one who knows," he snapped, and then stopped himself. "I'm the one who used it, and it didn't bring back my parents—only ghosts of the past."

"It will work," replied Albus, but this time his tone was softer, sadder. "It has to."

Once again Harry felt his heart break for his son's loss. He knew pain and knew what it meant to lose someone close—he had lost so many loved ones over the years it had been hard to go on at times. He knew what it could do to a person and feared that Albus was dangerously close to allowing his pain to drive him too far.

"Nothing can bring the dead back to life, Albus," he said gently. "Marcum is gone."

"Don't say that!" Albus cried, suddenly jumping to his feet and brandishing the Elder Wand at his father. Harry was too stunned to even react; his own holly wand remained in his robes and he simply showed Albus his upturned hands. Harry did not even ask how Albus had found his namesake's wand, because of course he would have figured it out, he was a Ravenclaw; still, it would not work for him, not really, for the wand's allegiance still belonged to Harry, even after so many years. And even the power of all three Hallows would not bring Marcum back in the way Albus so desperately desired.

"I'm not going to hurt you," said Harry, hoping his son could somehow feel his love and compassion. "I just want to help."

"Help me find the ring," said Albus flatly, still pointing the wand at Harry. Harry shook his head; he knew it wasn't the answer, as much as he wished it were, for both of them.

"Then leave me alone," Albus repeated, and turning his back, he left the clearing. Without another word he continued into the dark forest alone, as if trying to escape the confrontation.

Harry let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding, took another, and plunged into the woods after his son. He had not come so far only to lose him; he would do anything to save him, even if he had to use magic.

"Albus!" he called, but quickly realized his mistake in following. Albus turned and with a furious scowl, he cried, "_Locomotor Mortis_!"

Years of fighting Dark wizards had honed Harry's reflexes to lightning quick reactions: he whipped out his wand to cast a Shield Charm and just barely restrained himself from firing back.

"Albus!" he shouted as Albus turned and walked away once more. "You can't fight me, you know that. I just want to help you."

"I don't need you!" Albus yelled over his shoulder, his face contorted in anger and grief. "Not unless you help me find the ring."

"I won't, because you know the Stone isn't the answer. The Hallows won't bring Marcum back to life!"

"Leave me alone!" Albus screamed, and fired another spell at Harry. Once again Harry blocked the spell, sending the jet of yellow light into the woods. Albus fired again and again, each spell growing more desperate, and each blocked by Harry's shield as he slowly edged his way toward his grieving son.

Harry was surprised at the boy's furious power, and finally bit his lip before he cast an Impediment Jinx at Albus, forcing the boy to ground. He ran up and kneeled next to him, arms reaching for his youngest son; but Albus pushed him away and rolled over, breathing hard. Harry felt his eyes sting with tears as Albus glared at him.

"I won't give up, Dad," he gasped, holding his side. "I can't. Not when I know it's possible—that I can at least _see _him again."

Harry shook his head at his son's painful stubbornness. "Al, you know the story. The Stone won't bring him back to life, it will only bring back a pale shadow of who he was, trapping him between life and death." Harry stood and offered his hand to help Albus up, but once more his son rejected him, and Harry tried not to let Albus see how much that hurt him. "He's already moved on, don't disturb his peace. He would be unhappy, and so would you."

"You don't understand," Albus muttered, as he stood and moved away.

Harry lost his patience again. "The hell I don't'!" he snapped, hoping to get Albus's attention with harsh words if he could not with compassion. "I've lost more people than I want to remember. When my godfather died, I was devastated. I was desperate to find a way to bring him back. But it's not possible, Al, and that's okay." He let his voice soften. "Death is but the next great adventure." He smiled as he remembered Albus Dumbledore saying those words to him during his first year at Hogwarts; his son, however, grew angry again.

"An adventure? It's an adventure for _one_, dad!" he cried. "How is that great for anyone—to be alone, in life and death?"

"Is that what you think? That you are alone?" asked Harry, feeling like he had been kicked in the stomach. How could Albus feel alone, when he had a loving family and friends who cared for him? Then he remembered the many times he had felt alone, and why, and began to understand his son.

Albus had gone to Hogwarts concerned about being Sorted into Slytherin. Instead of following his brother—and the rest of his family—into Gryffindor, he had been Sorted into Ravenclaw, where he had met Marcum, whose own family had traditionally been in Hufflepuff. Both placed into an unexpected House, they had forged a quick and strong friendship that had grown into much more over their years together.

Upon graduating from Hogwarts, Albus and Marcum had both joined the Ministry, renting a flat together in Muggle London just outside of Diagon Alley. Marcum had been killed not long after by a gang of Muggles, though not for being a wizard. Harry understood that Albus felt responsible for the attack, and guilty for not being able to save his partner, as hard as he had tried.

Though friends and family had tried to reach out and support him, Albus had spiraled into a deep depression and isolated himself. Rose suspected that a co-worker was whispering about retribution and revenge, and soon Albus's grief twisted to hatred of the Muggles who had killed Marcum. He began to patronize Knockturn Alley with a crowd of young wizards who held their own prejudices against Muggles and frequently acted on them. Albus had been manipulated, and did not see the darkness gathering around him; for a while he had sought refuge from his pain in Dark Magic, though it did not alleviate his grief.

Soon, however, Albus had come to realize his unique knowledge of the Hallows might be his last chance to see Marcum once more, and he set out to forge a new path by retrieving them all—alone. James had tried to talk to Albus and had finally warned his parents that his brother was willing to risk everything for his obsession. Harry had set out immediately to stop him, instinctively knowing where he would find Albus.

Yes, Harry understood his son, but like any young man caught in the whirlwind of powerful emotions, Albus would not believe that his father could understand what he was going through. He didn't answer Harry's question, only looked skeptical at the asking, so Harry continued. "I know you and Marcum were close, Albus, but there are so many other people who love you, you must see that you are not alone."

Albus raised his eyebrows in scorn. "Like I said, Dad, you don't understand. Go back home."

"Come with me and explain," pleaded Harry. "Help me understand."

Albus appeared tempted as a number of emotions played across his face: grief, guilt, and love. Then anger appeared as he remembered his loss, and Harry saw the dark look in his son's eyes as he shut down and closed his heart. There was only one thing he desired now: to master death with the legend of the Deathly Hallows.

"No," he said, shaking his head very calmly. "I'm not like you, Dad. I won't accept it. I can't walk away. Death is not the end."

"You can," Harry answered, hearing the desperation in his voice. "You can walk away from here and move on. We can help you."

"I don't want your help!" Albus shouted, backing away, his green eyes blazing now. "I want the ring. I won't give up—I'm not like you!" He turned and walked away once more.

"You are exactly like me," Harry said softly, and he knew the words cut when Albus stopped, his back stiff. "Only weaker." He hated saying it, but needed to bring Albus back to him before it was too late; he only hoped he wasn't pushing too hard.

Albus took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, Dad," he said, his voice equally as quiet. "I really am." And without warning he turned and fired spell after spell, catching Harry off-guard this time. The first one glanced off his arm; the second he parried away. Before he even had time to cast a shield, Albus advanced on him, his wand a blur, his eyes frighteningly blank. Harry was taken aback by his son's brute force and agile quickness, and found himself working hard to parry each spell from a wand that should not have worked so well for his son. Finally, he was forced to cast a Stunning Spell, hoping to bring Albus down and take him home by force.

To his shock, Albus angrily parried the Stunner away, and rapidly fired three of his own, wearing down his father until a jet of red light finally hit Harry's leg and he fell to the ground, numb. Albus cast a binding spell, sending thick white ropes around Harry's lower body, and then cried, "_Expelliarmus_!"

Harry's wand flew into his son's hand. Albus looked at it with disinterest, and then tossed it behind him. "Now the Elder Wand is truly mine," he said, his voice flat. He knelt down next to Harry and took the Invisibility Cloak from under his robes. "As is the Cloak. And I will find the Resurrection Stone, Dad." Without another word he turned and Apparated out of the Forest, two Hallows tucked under his arm.

Harry let his head fall back to the ground and swore. Albus had bested him and left him trussed up alone in the woods. His son now had the Elder Wand and the Cloak; it was only a matter of time before Albus found the Resurrection Stone, for he had just proved he was willing to do anything to reunite the Deathly Hallows.

Harry had not only lost the duel, but had lost his son as well. He could only hope that Albus would find his way back before it was too late.

* * *

End Notes:

I wrote this story several years ago, with a very powerful vision of this confrontation between Harry and his son. I think I actually dreamed it. There is more to this story—what pushed Albus to this point, his confrontation with James, and the final endgame—so I hope you will give it a try. It is a bit darker than many of my other stories, but don't worry: I have more Marauder tales waiting in the wings. ;-)


	2. Chapter 2 Falling

Chapter Notes:  
There may be offensive language in this chapter in regards to the main couple. I assure you such language does not reflect my own thoughts, but those of the characters only. Although I considered censoring it, it is an important part of the story; it was used to demonstrate the drama of a very tense and emotional confrontation that has tragic consequences, and with no intent to offend anyone who may be reading.

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Chapter Two – Falling

The crisp night air blew briskly through the streets of London, sending Muggles and wizards alike scurrying quickly to warm shelter. Albus Potter walked with shoulders hunched, his hands tucked into his pockets, yet the lined fleece that had seemed fine in the morning did little to warm them now.

"Here, let me," said Marcum, grinning as he took Albus's hand in his own and rubbed it warm. Albus glanced around the street, but it was dark and empty aside from a group of patrons outside the pub across the way.

"How is it that you are perfectly comfortable in that—"Albus gestured at Marcum's thin pullover "—and I'm freezing in this?"

Marcum laughed and leaned in close, blond hair falling in front of his brown eyes. "Are you a wizard or not?" he asked conspiratorially with a wink. "Don't you know any warming spells?"

Albus groaned: he hadn't even thought of a spell for the walk back to their flat. And he was a Ravenclaw!

"Nice of you to share," he groused, and they both laughed and moved closer together for warmth. Across the street a small group of men left the crowd outside the pub, heading in the same direction. For some reason, it made Albus uneasy, and he took his hand from Marcum's warm embrace.

Marcum raised his eyebrow but did not say anything. "I think we might get some snow soon," he remarked nonchalantly, following Albus's gaze.

"Maybe," replied Albus absently, still feeling uncomfortable. "Let's hurry," he added in a lower voice. The men from the pub had crossed the street and were approaching them deliberately, whistling and jeering loudly. Albus put his hand on his wand, hidden inside his coat pocket.

"Easy," whispered Marcum. "They'll think you're armed."

"I am," Albus hissed back.

"You can't use your wand against Muggles," Marcum reminded him.

Albus did not reply: the men had stopped directly in front of them and were blocking the way. There were only three of them, but they were obviously drunk and looking for a fight.

"Hey, girls," jeered a brutish-looking man with black hair. "Care to have some fun tonight?"

"Not with you," Albus snapped. His hair-trigger temper set off by both the crude insult and vulgar invitation, he tried hard to keep his wand concealed and not shove it in the man's threatening face.

"Oh, but we do," sneered one of the man's companions; he pulled a small knife from his pocket. "Our kind of fun, not yours, of course."

"We prefer ours," murmured Marcum, eyeing the knife both doubtfully and warily.

"I'm sure you do, flyboy," the first man said, pulling out a Muggle weapon Albus recognized as a gun. "But we're in charge now." Albus felt Marcum stiffen next to him, and out of the corner of his eye saw Marcum's hand reach toward his back pocket.

The black-haired man motioned with the gun. "Hands were we can see them, twink—for now," he added, and his companions laughed. Albus wondered how fast he could draw his wand before the man fired his own weapon.

"What do you want?" asked Marcum, his voice far more casual than his body language.

"Just for you lot of queers to disappear," snapped the man with the knife. "But we'll settle for a little sport instead."

Albus lunged forward with a snarl, but Marcum stopped him, steadying him with a calm whisper. Their attackers laughed.

"Look, he's protecting his boyfriend," jeered the first man. "Going to play kissy-face now, boys?"

"You have a problem with that?" asked Marcum, his voice colder now, while Albus seethed hotly inside. "Because it's really none of your business."

"Yes, we do," spoke the third man, who had stood behind the other two, silent until now. He stepped into a pool of light to reveal a cruel face and glittering eyes. "And yes, it is."

"Piss off," snapped Albus, pulling out his wand; next to him Marcum remained motionless, frowning.

The cruel-looking man merely raised a thin eyebrow. "Going to poke me with your stick, are you?" The other two men laughed again, and Albus grew tired of the confrontation, in spite of Marcum's caution.

"Not exactly," he replied, and he fired a Body-Binding Curse at the man, dropping him to the ground instantly.

The next moments seemed to pass in slow motion: the cruel man's companions turned to look at their fallen comrade; Marcum pulled out his wand; the black-haired man whirled around and fired his gun at Albus; Marcum threw up a Shield Charm in front of Albus. There was a loud noise like a spell backfiring, and Marcum sank to the ground, clutching his chest. With a snarl Albus Stunned both men and they too fell to the pavement, unconscious.

Less than a minute had passed and he was the only one standing.

Albus dropped down next to Marcum, shaking his head in disbelief. A bright pool of blood was gathering underneath Marcum, and his eyes were half closed with pain. Albus tried a basic healing spell, but Marcum cried out in agony. He gently picked up his partner and heard him whisper, "I'm sorry," before Marcum lost consciousness. With a heart-wrenching sob, Albus turned and Apparated to St. Mungo's with Marcum limp in his arms.

* * *

_Albus shook off the terrible memories of that time: of arriving at St. Mungo's too late to save Marcum; of the long night he spent laying by Marcum's side until his parents had gently taken him home; of Marcum's funeral, bittersweet and so, so final. As he plunged deeper into the forest, he remembered instead the terrible sorrow that had enveloped him every day, and how desperate he had been to forget that horrible night. Thoughts of revenge had pushed him toward dark places…_

* * *

Albus tossed a stone into the small fountain, blankly watching as the rippling circles spread across the sparkling water. He felt like that rock: surrounded by light but sinking, falling father and farther into a darkness he couldn't escape.

Shaking his hands free of dirt, Albus stood as he sensed his cousin approach. He arranged his face into the stoic mask he had adopted since Marcum's death and turned to greet her.

"Hi, Albus," said Rose Weasley, her strawberry hair blowing in the spring breeze. "How are you?" She hugged him, and he felt her concern even as he saw it in her face.

He shrugged his answer as they began walking. They were both in Muggle London for the day and had decided to meet for lunch; or rather, Rose's owl had insisted on his affirmative reply by refusing to leave his shoulder for several hours. Rose was doing research for her Advanced Muggle Studies degree, and Albus had come for the trial of Marcum's murderers.

The _Muggle_trial. Because the men were not wizards, the Wizengamot had no authority over their punishment. Albus's mother had pushed them to pressure the Muggle authorities for an arrest and trial. The proceedings had just begun, and soon Albus would be called to testify, forced to relive those short but horrible moments that had changed everything. He knew she would bring it up next.

"So how did it go today?"

Albus sighed; he wanted to tell her how difficult it had been to see Marcum's killers in Muggle court every day for the past week. They were close, and she had really been there for him in the weeks after Marcum's murder. She had checked on him everyday, and even stayed with him when he couldn't take care of the flat and wouldn't eat. But he held back, not wanting to inflict his anger on her; and in some ways, keeping it inside and to himself was all he had left.

"It must be so hard," she said softly, her eyes searching his face. She hooked her arm in his. "Do you want to talk about it?"

He wanted to tell her, he really did. Marcum's killers had leered at him as if he had never sent them flying with a cast of his wand; the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad had made sure to wipe their memories after Albus had arrived at St. Mungo's that night, and so they had no idea he was a powerful wizard who could immobilize them with a single word. And he wanted to, he wanted to hurt them for what they had done, and that single thought escaped before he could stop it.

"All I could think while I sat there was how badly I wanted to curse—"

"Oh Albus," Rose interrupted, before he could finish his crude sentence. "I know you want to hurt them, but what good would that do now? And just because we have magical powers, doesn't mean we should use them against Muggles just because we can—or want to."

"You sound just like your mum!" Albus replied ruefully, shaking his head.

Rose nodded sagely. "Might is not right. And the Muggle world has its own justice system. Although, I have to admit I'd much rather see them in the Wizengamot than some Muggle court!"

"Exactly!" agreed Albus as they continued toward Diagon Alley for lunch. "But why isn't might right sometimes? If we have the power to punish them, why shouldn't we? I hate waiting for the Muggles to just throw them in one their ridiculous jails. They should rot in Azkaban—or worse!"

Rose stopped and turned to face him, her eyes alarmed. "Al! Are you still going to Knockturn Alley with those Slytherins? That sounds just like something they'd say."

"Maybe they're right," Albus grumbled, not admitting to his continued nocturnal wanderings. He had indeed been frequenting Knockturn Alley more and more. As distasteful as he found it, he also found it oddly comforting to hear those secret thoughts he was having spoken out loud. He sometimes burned with the need to go after the men who had killed Marcum, though deep down he knew it was wrong. He might not agree with everything the crowd in the Hag's Rest believed, but he agreed with enough to quench his thirst for revenge.

"Albus Severus Potter!" Rose exclaimed. "How could you say such things? Muggles need to be protected from magic, not subjected to it."

Albus frowned. "I don't want to rule them, Rose—I just want justice. It would be easy. They're weak—I took out three of them that night and could easily do it again."

Rose stared hard at him. "And Marcum died anyway, so fat lot of good magic did," she said coldly. She knew it would hurt; she said it to snap him back. When she saw the stunned look on his face, she nodded and continued walking. "Don't forget, we both have Muggle heritage—your grandmother and my mother were both Muggleborns!"

Albus didn't say anything; he was well aware of the fact, which only compounded how guilty he felt every time he stepped back into Knockturn Alley. And yet they had some strong points about Muggles and power and revenge...

"Have you been to the cemetery recently?" Rose interrupted his thoughts, deliberately changing the subject. They had argued over his visits to Knockturn Alley before, and she had even gone to James to express her concern. He knew she was worried, but was glad she had decided to drop it; the trial was enough to deal with without getting into his personal life as well.

"No," he replied softly. In fact, he hadn't ever gone to the cemetery, because he couldn't bring himself to visit Marcum's grave, and she knew that. He still struggled to get up every morning and move forward with his life, and he felt like going to the cemetery would trap him in the past forever. At the same time, he clung to his memories and did not want to give them up to the finality of death.

Death. At times the grief was still too strong to bear; at other times—like at the trial—it was anger; but always underneath, like an incurable disease that slowly sapped him of his strength, simmered the terrible guilt Albus felt every day. It was his fault: he had drawn his wand, he had hexed the first man, he had failed to protect Marcum even as his partner had saved him. And now he was visiting Knockturn Alley, with thoughts of revenge that he knew were wrong and didn't have the courage to act on anyway in order to get justice for Marcum.

That was what kept him from the cemetery more than anything: guilt, for all that he had done and failed to do.

Rose sighed. "You should go, I think it would help," she said. Albus shook his head; he couldn't face Marcum, not after failing him in so many ways. "He doesn't blame you, you know." Albus's head shot up; sometimes it was like Rose could read his mind.

"Wherever he is, Albus," she said softly, "Marcum's not angry with you, and he wouldn't want you to do anything to compromise yourself. He wasn't like that and you know it."

Albus didn't know what to say: she was probably right, and he felt his guilt swell as he realized how he continued to let people down, even Rose. "Would you like to go after the trial?" she finally asked.

Albus swallowed hard: he could say no, back away and continue to isolate himself with his grief, guilt, and the desire for revenge; or he could say yes, and begin the slow process of healing and moving on.

He just didn't know if he could—or if it was worth even trying.

* * *

_As he continued through the shadowy trees, Albus remembered the trial, and how difficult it had been to finally testify in front of Marcum's killers. Their conviction of a lesser charge and sentence of time served had done nothing to lift his spirits: in fact it had confirmed his lack of faith in the Muggle justice system and only augmented his deep anger and desire for revenge. So he had taken care of it, though it brought little respite to his troubled soul to use an Unforgivable Curse on the whimpering men. He felt like something was wrong with him, that he could do such things, and that he could still not move on; and though he recognized the vicious cycle he had fallen into, he was unable to break out of it, even when he had finally gone to the cemetery and confessed..._

* * *

The summer breeze should have warmed him, but he still he felt cold; the sun was shining down upon a beautiful day and yet it was if he were walking through shadows. He regretted coming almost as soon as he had finished Apparating, and would have turned again to leave if Rose hadn't appeared next to him and staggered.

"Bollocks, I hate that," she said as she caught her balance. "I take after my dad, it took him a while to get a hang of it as well."

Albus didn't say anything; he just glanced around the quiet park where they had materialized, his heart pounding.

"Come on," Rose said softly, taking his hand. "He's over here." They walked slowly across the field toward a small oak tree, where a stone marker underneath read:

Marcum Sloane  
2006 – 2025  
Loyal and True

Crushing sadness did not immediately send him to his knees, as he thought it would when he finally came to see the grave. Instead, the bitter sorrow inside grew stronger and his chest became tight with it as if his heart would break. And again he felt that something was wrong with him, something that he didn't understand and couldn't share with anyone because they wouldn't understand either.

More than anything, he felt terribly alone as he stood there looking down at his partner's grave, and he simply longed to be with Marcum again.

"I'll leave you by yourself for a few minutes," Rose said softly, and walked across the field to a bench near a small copse of trees. Albus stood there on his own, not knowing what to say or do or feel. Finally he said the only thing he could:

"I'm sorry."

And then he fell to his knees. He choked back sobs as he reached toward the tombstone to touch the letters carved in cold stone. Marcum was dead and he had to move on, but first he would say all those things he had to say, because Marcum was the only one Albus could say them to.

He told Marcum how sorry he was for casting the first curse, for not blocking the bullet that had taken Marcum's life, for not getting to St. Mungo's fast enough. He told him about the trial and how angry it made him to see the three men from the pub go free. He told him how he had started going to Knockturn Alley and began seeing a group of prejudiced Slytherins. He told him how he had finally heeded their advice and taken justice into his own hands, punishing the killers with the Cruciatus Curse. He told Marcum how sick it had made him, and how sorry he was, for what he had done and what he had become.

He confessed his guilt, his grief, his anger, and his loss. It poured from him to fall upon the green grass; and though he felt lighter for it, he also felt empty. A desperate desire to fill that emptiness took hold of his heart.

Albus finally wiped his eyes dry, though he hadn't even been aware that he was crying. He stood and conjured a single crimson rose and placed it upon the grass. He heard Rose come up behind him and coughed to clear his throat of emotions he had no wish to share with anyone else.

Rose gently took his hand, looking into his eyes with liquid empathy. "I'm so sorry, Albus. I wish you could see him one more time—truly say goodbye."

It was a throwaway comment but it made his breath catch in his throat. He _could _say goodbye. There _was_a way he could see Marcum again. His father had done it, why couldn't he?

"I can," he breathed, not realizing he said it out loud.

"What?" asked Rose, turning to face him. "What are you talking about?"

"I can bring him back," Albus whispered, the tiniest flicker of hope beginning to beat in his heart. It was what he needed to replace the emptiness in his chest.

"How?" asked Rose, confused. "It's not possible, not even in the Department of Mysteries. There are no spells, no potions—"

"The Resurrection Stone," said Albus. "There's the Resurrection Stone."

Albus saw her shoulders fall and her face crumple up in concern. He knew it was a long shot but he also knew it was his only chance to save himself. He steeled to her coming protests.

"Al, that's a myth, a legend, something—" she began.

"Something our parents found and used to destroy Lord Voldemort."

She looked skeptical. "The Hallows didn't destroy Voldemort, your father killed him with a simple spell. The Hallows are just three magical objects that people like to think are infallible, when really they are just like any other wand, or stone, or invisibility cloak."

"How can you say that?" Albus exclaimed. "You heard the same stories I did growing up, you've seen my dad's cloak—how can you doubt them?"

"My mum says—"

"Hang Aunt Hermione!" Albus retorted. "She was there, she just doesn't want to admit it's true, after all these years. My dad had the Resurrection Stone, Rose. He turned it three times and his parents came back. His parents! If he can use it, why can't I?"

"For one, because he dropped it in the middle of the Forbidden Forest over twenty-five years ago!"

"I can find it." He had to. He felt like he could finally do something with his life; rather than dwelling on all that he had lost, he could now look forward to something more. He would do anything he had to in order the find the Stone.

"But don't you need all three for it to work?" Rose looked sick with herself for even asking it.

"No, but I'll get them all," Albus replied; he felt the fire within and knew Rose saw it in his eyes. "Don't you see? I'd be Master of Death! I have to try! If I could see Marcum again, just for a moment, I might—" he cut himself off, not wanting to share his deepest feelings. He would see Marcum again, he would tell him how sorry he was in person, and maybe the guilt would go away. Maybe he could truly say goodbye.

Or maybe he wouldn't have to: maybe he could truly bring him back.

* * *

_Albus entered yet another clearing, still searching for the ring, but losing hope. He had spent months tracking down the Hallows, researching everything he could find about them. He had subtly questioned his family about the magical talismans, telling them it was for research at the Ministry. He had avoided Rose, but she had gone to James, and his brother had finally confronted him. It was James who had sent their father after him that night two weeks ago._

_Albus regretted that last meeting with his father; he hadn't meant to lose control like that, to hurt him. He hadn't realized just how far he had fallen that he could do such things. And yet it was done, and he had two Hallows now. All he needed was the stone, and he could see Marcum again._

_As the sun began to rise, Albus gave up and Apparated out of the Forest to the place he always returned since beginning his search. As he materialized in the field where Marcum lay, he was startled by a voice behind him. He turned to see a tall, dark-haired man standing against a small oak tree, holding a cracked stone ring in his hand._

_"Hello, Albus," said James Potter._

* * *

End Notes:  
I know that was tough, but I hope you understand now where Albus was in the first chapter. Thank you very much to laceymoibella for being my plot beta and helping me tweak it! And to my LJ friends who chatted and commented, and modly types for their advice as well. The next chapter is from James's point of view. Thank you for reading!


	3. Chapter 3 Bittersweet

Chapter Three - Bittersweet

"What the hell are you doing here?" snapped Albus, the Elder Wand pointing directly at his older brother. James was stunned at his brother's appearance: he looked gaunt, unkept, and had a desperate look in his eyes.

"I'm here to help you," answered James. He left the cover of the tree and began walking toward Albus; he did not draw his wand.

"Great—give me the Stone," said Albus. James shook his head; that was exactly what he had expected his younger brother to say. He still held the Resurrection Stone in his hand, though he did not plan to hand it over; why then had he even revealed he had it?

"Not that way," James replied, shaking off his doubt. "Come home with me. Mum and Dad are worried. We can help you."

"Dad sent you, didn't he?" asked Albus with a disgusted look on his face. "Go save your brother, James. Little lost Al. Forget it—I didn't need Dad's help and I don't need yours either!"

"He didn't send me," James replied earnestly, knowing Albus would not believe him anyway. "Frankly, he hasn't said a word about what happened. I think he's too scared."

That seemed to get through: family was important to Albus, in spite of all that may have happened over the past year. "Scared of what?" Albus frowned. "Of me? Or the wand?"

"Of losing you," said James honestly. "We're afraid of losing you."

"We all lose the people we love eventually," Albus shrugged, though James knew the casual statement caused his brother great pain. "I have to do this. I have to."

"You can't really bring him back, Al—you know the story!" James came closer, hoping his brother could somehow sense his worry and concern. "Please, come home with me."

"I know I can't bring him back," Albus said, and his eyes were haunted. "I just want to see him one more time."

James knew his brother's sorrow was intense. Though at first it had been difficult for him to accept Marcum as part of their family, it did not take long for him to see just how much Albus cared about his partner. Marcum had balanced Albus's temper and brazen stubbornness with his own calm and rational thinking, along with a wickedly clever wit. Marcum had quickly found a place in the Potter clan, even holding his own at the legendary Weasley gatherings. That he had died so soon had left the entire family saddened, and not just for Albus's deep grief.

James was tempted to give him the Stone: Albus was drawn and pale, his face ground down by loss and his obsession with the Resurrection Stone these past months. If Albus used the Stone, perhaps that one last chance to see Marcum would help him move on. Yet that was not why James was there; he had not spent so much time looking for the Stone only to simply give the powerful talisman to his brother. He had come to help Albus, to save him from himself; handing him the Stone would only enable his continued grief and desperate desire to see Marcum again.

And yet why had he searched so hard, spent so many sleepless nights roaming the Forbidden Forest, hoping to find the Stone before Albus? He had only managed to find it by paying Hagrid a visit; after many drinks he had asked the giant to take him to the clearing where the giant spider had lived, and where his father had faced Voldemort while Hagrid stood captive. And still it had taken much searching to find the ring, dropped so long ago; perhaps it had finally wanted to be found.

Perhaps that was why had he brought it to the graveyard.

James was roused from his thoughts by a slight tug on his hand: Albus was trying to Summon the Stone. Before he could react—or perhaps he did not really wish to stop him, deep down—the Stone flew from his hands toward Albus, who caught it as deftly as catching the Quaffle in a Quidditch game. He stared at it, his eyes unreadable.

"Thanks, brother," he said, and with a swift flick of his wand, he sent James flying backward away from the grave, to land hard upon the ground twenty feet away.

James cursed as he stood and wiped the leaves from his pants. Albus had the Stone now, and the consequences must play out. Again he wondered whether that was why he had really come to the graveyard.

He stood back and watched as Albus took a deep breath and turned the Stone three times in his hands. Slowly a white mist began to coalesce into the familiar form of Marcum Sloane. James saw his brother's shoulders straighten and could almost feel Albus's grief dissipate for a few precious minutes. Though he did not want to intrude on such a private moment, he couldn't help but move closer.

Marcum looked the same as the day he had died, more solid than a ghost but less than a living person. He also appeared somewhat confused; he glanced around the graveyard, his eyes drawn to the headstone with his name on it, until they finally settled on Albus, and he shook his head almost ruefully.

"Hi, Al," he said. "Funny place for a reunion."

James saw Albus wipe away a tear from his face, but also heard a familiar teasing tone in his brother's voice that had been missing for months. "It's not bad—your own tree, some privacy, a nice view." They grinned at each other, just like old times.

What did you say to someone who had died? What did you say to someone you had lost so suddenly and so tragically, someone you had loved so much? James felt awkward as the silence stretched between the two men, a silence in which they nevertheless spoke volumes to each other. He felt his own heart breaking again, as it had over a year ago when Albus had first lost Marcum; he couldn't imagine losing Sarah, his fiance, and he dreaded the moment when Marcum would return to his place beyond the veil.

As Albus and Marcum continued their silent communion, James turned away. He breathed deeply in the fresh morning air and gave thanks that come spring he would enjoy life as a married man. He was marrying a girl who was everything he had ever hoped for in a partner: beautiful, talented, funny, and smart—so smart James sometimes wondered what an Unspeakable in the Department of Mysteries might see in a minor Quidditch Keeper like him. Thinking of his upcoming wedding was bittersweet, however, because it saddened him to think that Albus had lost the one person he hoped to spend the rest of his life with.

With a sigh, James gazed back at his brother and saw that he had moved closer to Marcum, and that they were now speaking; Albus had hung his head, and James thought that perhaps he was crying. He saw Marcum reach out to Albus, touch his face; Albus looked up and Marcum shook his head. Albus gestured almost wildy with his hands, and this time Marcum placed his ghostly arms on Albus's shoulders as if to calm him. Were they arguing?

James often wondered if Albus felt guilty about the night Marcum had died. Their cousin Rose seemed to think that he felt a great deal of remorse, not only for surviving, but for causing the confrontation that had taken his partner's life—and for failing to save Marcum, as hard as he had tried. James hoped that the ghost the ring had called back was laying his brother's guilt to rest at last, so that Albus might accept what had happened as the tragedy it was and begin to heal his lost soul.

Marcum placed his hand on Albus's heart and leaned close. Albus shook his head, but Marcum smiled, kissed his forehead, and began to fade away, his voice a whisper on the wind. Albus fell to his knees, hands reaching blindly for his lost partner. He bowed his head and James saw his shoulders shake in silent sobs.

He felt his brother's pain as acutely as if it were his own; how could he have given him the Stone? What good had it done to see his loved one again, only to lose him, again? He hurried over to Albus and took him in his arms. Albus stiffened at first, but then collapsed onto his brother, his grief finally pouring out in rivers of sorrow upon the grass.

And then he began to quiet. He took several deep breaths and worked his way out of James's embrace. James helped him stand, and immediately noticed a frightening glint in his brother's eyes.

"Thank you," said Albus, wiping his face clean with his sleeve. "I'm okay now." James was silent as Albus handed him the Stone. "You might need this someday,' he said softly.

"I hope not," murmured James, pocketing the Stone and gazing into his brother's unreadable face.

"I hope not too," Albus replied. "And I hope you understand what I have to do now."

James was starting to worry about the slightly mad look in his brother's eyes. He casually placed his hand on his wand, anticipating an attack much like the one Albus had had with their father.

Albus simply shook his head, his eyes still glowing strangely. "Could I have a moment?" he asked.

James nodded and backed away, still keeping a wary eye on his younger brother. Albus kneeled in the grass again. He seemed to be doing something with his wand; James assumed he was conjuring a flower or something similar until he heard a familiar voice on the wind:

"James, stop him!"

Without thinking, James whipped out his wand and cried, "_Expelliarmus_!" The Elder Wand flew into his hand but Albus did not turn. James cast a second spell that sent Albus flying away from the grave; in his place was not the bouquet of flowers James had expected, but a small potions vial lying empty in the grass.

"You didn't," James breathed, his heart frozen in fear.

"He did," whispered the voice on the wind, as Albus tried to rise. He was already weak and fell to his knees. James began to run toward him.

"Stay away from me," Albus snarled, and he tried to throw a punch at James as he approached. James easily blocked it as Albus collapsed, his face clammy and pale.

"Help him," murmured the breeze one last time. "Show him what to live for."

James nodded as he slung his brother over his shoulders. He had to get him to St. Mungo's first. And then he would somehow show Albus the endless possibilities of his life—if he survived and could find his way.

* * *

End Notes:

And so the story continues. Thank you so much to laceymoibella for looking at this twice and offering her wonderful feedback and welcome assurances both times! And thank you for reading this story—I do appreciate comments and will answer any questions you might have as I have made some very deliberate choices thus far. It is also complete and seven chapters long, if you are curious. :)


	4. Chapter 4 Shame

Chapter 4 – Shame

Though the light was dim, it reached down through his eyelids and touched him gently, encouraging him to slowly wake up. Soft sounds reached his ears, and a dull metallic taste in his mouth made him wince as he swallowed past a parched throat. He opened his eyes and without even seeing, croaked, "Something to drink, please."

He heard the murmuring grow excited, but closed his eyes until a cool glass was held up to his lips and he could finally wash the terrible memory of the potion out of his mouth. And then it registered: he had failed.

Again.

With a deep sigh, Albus opened his eyes and gazed around the room at St. Mungo's. Yes, he had failed—there was his mother, holding the glass, and his sister coming in with James. And in the back stood his father, looking more pale and frightened than Albus had ever seen him.

"Good morning, sleepyhead," whispered his mother as she set the cup on the table next to his bedside. She cleared the hair from his eyes and laid her hand on his cheek. "It's good to see you again."

Albus didn't know what to say: was he glad to be alive? Or did he still want to be with Marcum? He couldn't decide: he felt guilty either way, as if wanting one more than the other betrayed those he would leave behind. He closed his eyes and felt a tear slip out. Perhaps it would be easier to just not care anymore.

His mother leaned down to kiss him on the forehead. "Get some rest, now, dear. You've been fighting a nasty potion these past few days."

Albus opened his eyes in shock—days? "What happened?" he rasped, his mind a blur. He remembered finding James at the cemetery, remembered turning the Resurrection Stone and meeting Marcum one last time, and he remembered taking the terrible potion he had hidden at the gravesite long ago. He did not know how he had survived, or how he had made it to St. Mungo's.

"You took a Death Draught," his father said, stepping up to join them. He looked grim, as if the near loss of his son had added years to his life instead of days. "We thought we'd lost you. James found you at the cemetery and brought you here only just in time for the Healers to begin treating you—and even then it's been hard." He ran a hand through his hair, and it stood on end just as it always had, only now it was shot through with grey Albus could hardly remember seeing a year ago. Was that his fault?

His mother gazed down at him with a small smile. "That was quite a potion you brewed, dear—fevers, chills, delirium. There were many moments when we didn't think you'd make it." She appeared older as well: the lines in her face seemed etched deeper by worry and her eyes were dull and glistening. Lily sniffed and James put his arm around her shoulder, and Albus saw that they too looked tired and spent, as if they hadn't slept for days.

Because of him.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, as the full realization of his selfishness the past year came crashing upon him and filled him with shame. "I'm so sorry."

"Oh, Albus," his mother replied, and she took him in her arms. He was too tired, too emotionally exhausted to resist, though he did not deserve the love she was offering. "Don't be sorry. We're the ones who should be apologizing to you. We're sorry we didn't see it, that we couldn't stop the pain, that we couldn't help you—"

"You tried," Albus said, pulling away and looking at them. "You tried so hard, and I failed you. All I could think about was Marcum, and his murderers, and the Resurrection Stone…" He trailed off as he saw his older brother shake his head almost imperceptibly. His father noticed and frowned, and Albus immediately understood that James had not told them he had found the Stone, nor that Albus had used it. The relief he felt was yet again compounded with shame, and he turned away so they could not see it in his face.

"It's okay," his mother said, patting his arm. "We're here for you now, and we will do whatever you need us to do."

Albus simply nodded; there was nothing he really wanted anymore. "Can I talk to James for a moment?" he asked. "Privately?"

"Of course," she replied. She kissed him on the cheek and stood up, motioning to the others. Albus could see that his father was reluctant to step out; his instincts were probably telling him that something was going on between his two sons. Yet his father could never know that Albus had used the Stone, because his father had been right, that night in the forest: Albus was weak.

James eyed him warily as everyone left the room, as if he might break at any moment. Albus did not know where to begin: so many different thoughts and feelings were running through his mind that didn't know how to start sorting them out. They were silent until they both began speaking at once.

"Thank you—"

"I didn't tell—"

"I know," Albus said. "Thank you for not telling them everything. But even more importantly, thank you for saving my life." He tried not to sound as dull and bitter as he felt.

James let out a breath and grinned. "Damn, you scared us, Al." He came and sat at the foot of the bed, shaking his head. "Please don't ever do that that again."

"Don't worry, I won't." Albus leaned back against his pillow, exhausted. "Marcum didn't want me to, anyway—I don't think he's ready for me to join him yet."

"Smart bloke, Marcum," replied James. He fiddled with the blankets at the foot of them bed. "So why did you do it?" he finally asked, gazing directly at his younger brother.

"I just couldn't…" Albus paused, unsure what he wanted to say next. Or rather, whether he could say it to James and ever be able to face his brother—or himself—again. Yet after what he had just been through, he realized he had nothing to lose: James had seen him at his worst, at his weakest; he had stood by Albus's side in support and saved his life when Albus had no strength left to save himself.

"I don't know how to go on," he finally whispered, looking away. "I don't even know if I want to, let alone if I can." He heard James take a deep breath and turned back to him, expecting to find his older brother shaking his head again, laughing, or embarrassed with the awkwardness of the exchange. Instead, James took his hand and squeezed it with compassion and sympathy, and Albus knew that he was right to trust him with his deepest fear.

"I can't imagine what you must feel, Al," James said softly. "I think I'd want to die too if I lost Sarah."

"Why didn't you tell Dad?" asked Albus.

James shrugged. "He doesn't need to know. I don't know how he'd react."

"He'd be furious," Albus replied with a bitter laugh. "But then, I'm already a failure so it hardly matters."

"That's not what I meant." James frowned. "He's used it too, you know—he might understand. I just don't know how he'd feel if he knew we had it. He might be tempted to use it again."

Albus thought about it: would his father be able to resist the Stone if it came to him a second time? He was tempted to ask James where it was, but once again decided it would be easier to just not care: if he cared—if he knew—he might only get hurt again.

With that thought, a wave of pain washed over him and he curled in upon himself. He suddenly needed to be alone. James seemed to understand and stood up to leave. He looked desperately sad, and Albus felt overwhelmed once more with guilt and shame that he should be the cause of it.

James put his hand on his shoulder. "Look, I know you miss him, and that you don't know what to do now. But I have an idea, something that might help. Once you're a bit stronger, I'll show you. First, though, you have to get your strength back."

Albus nodded, though he didn't believe there was anything James could do or say to make the journey forward any easier. A hint of skepticism must have shown on his face, because James smiled. "Don't worry, Al—it was Marcum's idea."

Albus closed his eyes, wondering if he would ever be free of his partner's ghost.

* * *

A week had passed and the Healers had finally decided Albus could go home, but his parents insisted that he stay with them rather than return to the flat in London on his own. They cleaned out his old room and brought over everything he would need to stay several weeks—"At least through the holidays," his mother had said. Albus did not mind at all; he recognized his precarious mental state and decided he would let them do whatever they wanted to do. He had expended too much energy searching for the Hallows to really care about making decisions for himself at the moment anyway.

At first he had done nothing but sleep; gradually he began to venture downstairs for meals, though he did not really feel like eating. James had moved out long ago, but he came to dinner every night after Quidditch practice, and Albus slowly began to join in the conversation. Lily invited Rose over, and soon others were coming by as well: Teddy Lupin, then Aunt Hermione and Uncle Ron. Everyone tried to act normal, but Albus knew that what had happened in the cemetery was on everyone's mind, and he felt the strain even among his own family.

He often retreated to his father's study in order to get away from it all. He sat in an old chair, staring out the window into the yard where he had spent many happy years running under an enchanted Muggle sprinkler during the summer, laying under the stars at night, playing Quidditch with his cousins. Memories came flooding back, from his childhood, from Hogwarts, from his short time with Marcum: memories of his past life. What would this new life hold, this life without the one person he had hoped to spend it with? Would he make new memories as dear?

He didn't really care; whatever happened now, happened.

As he contemplated an empty and unhappy future, he heard a knock on the door. With a sigh he opened it to find his brother standing there, dressed to go out. "Are you ready?" he asked.

"For what?" Albus asked. Normally he would have been annoyed that someone had planned something without asking him and just assumed he would go, but as he had nothing to do and no desire to do anything, that reaction barely registered. He threw on the cloak James offered, feeling uncharacteristically compliant and not really caring.

"Side-along Apparation. We're going to the Ministry of Magic."

"It's almost closing time, James. And mum will be making dinner soon." He might not care about much else, but at least he knew when to eat and sleep.

James rolled his eyes and took out a sandwich from his robes for his brother. "I knew you'd say that. Eat as we Apparate, then. I told mum and dad we were going out. We have an after-hours appointment."

"With who?" asked Al, taking the sandwich and stuffing it into a pocket. "And how about something to drink?" He briefly wondered why they were going to the Ministry after hours, but did not particularly feel like asking about it. If he needed his wand, he didn't care. It was tucked away in his room: he did not trust himself to use it anymore after he had hurt so many people with it.

"You'll find out when we get there," James replied, taking his arm. "Hold on."

Albus felt a deep wrench as he dissolved and careened through space. They materialized not in the Atrium but in a plain, bare corridor Albus had never been in before.

"Welcome to the Department of Mysteries," said a voice behind them.

* * *

End Notes:

One more I would like to thank my lovely beta, laceymoibella, for reading this chapter and offering some reassuring comments. I must admit this was not quite the chapter I had intended, but I felt that Albus needed a break, and that the reader needed to know more about his mental state before moving on to the Department of Mysteries. Because that's where the rest of the tale takes us…


	5. Chapter 5 Possibilities

Chapter Five – Possibilities

Albus turned around and was slightly surprised to see Sarah Holmes, James's fiancé, standing behind him. He knew she was an Unspeakable, but had certainly not expected to Apparate directly to her department and find her waiting for them. Seeing her caused a slight pang as he thought about his brother's wedding in the spring; he felt guilty for resenting their happiness, though he loved her like a sister already.

Standing beside her was a short man who looked familiar. He was ancient: his white hair and beard were cut short, but his face was lined with wrinkles, and he came toward them with a slow step, slightly stooped. His blue eyes twinkled with intelligence and wit, however, as Albus struggled to place him.

"Hi, Albus," said Sarah, her blond hair pulled back into a long braid. When she smiled at him, Albus was immediately reminded of how much he liked her: she radiated compassion, setting everyone she met at ease with her warm brown eyes and honest face. She greeted him with an affectionate hug, and Albus couldn't help but grin when his brother held up his hands, looking for his own embrace.

"Hi, James," she added, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek before turning to the man beside her. "This is Aldred Dumbledore, our Chief Unspeakable. He'll be helping you tonight, as it is quite out of my authorization to even talk about where you are going."

"Dumbledore!" Albus exclaimed, and James looked equally surprised and impressed. That was why the man had looked so familiar: Albus Dumbledore had died long before he had been born, but Albus had seen enough portraits to recognize the resemblance to the late Headmaster of Hogwarts. "I was named for a Dumbledore."

"I know," replied the Unspeakable, offering his hand. Albus took it and found the older man's grip to still be strong. "You were named for my cousin—a great honor for him, to be sure."

"Aldred is actually my…" Sarah ticked off numbers on her fingers, "…great, great, great, great uncle. He's doing me a big favor by taking you in." She seemed slightly uncomfortable, but her uncle patted her arm and smiled.

"I'm happy to help, dear," he said, shaking James's hand. "We've let very few people into the Realm from outside the department, to be honest. It's still unpredictable, even though we've been working on it for over ten years. Not everyone can handle what they find. Yet I understand from Sarah that this is exactly the sort of thing we should use it for." He looked pointedly at Albus, who swallowed nervously.

"I don't understand," he said, glancing between the three of them. "Why did we Apparate directly here? Why not use the main entrance? And what's the Realm?"

"There have been a few break-ins over the last several weeks," answered Sarah, glancing sideways at the older man; Albus sensed she was definitely not telling them everything. "And access to the Department of Mysteries in particular has been strictly limited to certain Ministry personnel only. As for the Realm—I'll let Aldred explain that."

Aldred Dumbledore continued with a gracious nod to his niece. "The Realm of Possibility was discovered not long after your father wreaked a bit of havoc in the Hall of Prophecy—which, by the way, I was in charge of for a good many years. Not that I minded, of course," he added, no doubt noticing the look of chagrin on Albus's face. "Your father did what he had to do. But a large number of prophecies were destroyed, and as the years went by, less and less were made. So we began to focus our research on other methods of predicting the future."

"The future." Albus heard the deadness in his voice. He suddenly understood why he was there, and he felt angry and betrayed. "I don't need to see my future, I don't _want_to see my future!" He whirled on James. "Is that why you brought me here? To show me what my life is going to be like without Marcum?"

James looked both embarrassed and frightened of his brother's reaction. "I told you, Al—it was Marcum's idea. 'Show him what to live for' he said. And he's right—you've done nothing since you came home, it's like you don't care about anything anymore. Maybe this will help—"

"Maybe I don't want help," Albus snapped.

"Al," Sarah said softly. "Please listen. You're being offered an amazing gift."

Albus whirled on her. "Then I'm returning it. I'm not interested."

Dumbledore coughed, breaking the tension. "She's quite right, but first let me continue and see if I can't change your mind. The Realm of Possibilities is exactly that: a place where you can see the _possibilities_of your future. It is obviously impossible to reliably predict what will happen at tomorrow's staff meeting let alone next year's Quidditch final, but the Realm of Possibilities narrows down what may or may not happen to you and you alone: no one can enter the Realm to see someone else's future possibilities. Only you may cast the spell and receive a glimpse of what may happen—should you choose that particular path."

The Ravenclaw in him was curious: how did such a spell work? And what would he see? Would he see something beside the empty future he felt now? What if he did? Would he betray Marcum's memory by living out his future in happiness?

As if reading his mind, Dumbledore offered softly, "Do not let fear hold you back, for you are ultimately in control of your destiny. And do not let the dead hold you back either, for they are not."

Albus turned away and blew out a long breath. He was reluctant to admit it, but he wanted to go. Perhaps there was something in his future worth living for. Anything would be better than the dull existence he had endured since he had returned home. A small part of him wondered if there might actually be a future where he would be reunited with Marcum after all.

With a curt nod, Albus agreed to go. Aldred Dumbledore smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Good for you, my boy," he said. "You have already taken the first step. Follow me."

They followed the old man through a large black door into a strange circular room. Albus had heard many stories about the Department of Mysteries, but had never had reason or opportunity to visit the ninth level when he worked at the Ministry. He found himself intrigued by the glossy floor, the twelve dark doors, and the odd blue light coming from the sconces on the wall. He took a breath to settle himself as the floor began to turn; or perhaps they were still and the walls were moving, he was not sure. At last the room stopped revolving and Dumbledore lead them into a large room filled with sparkling light.

"This is the Time Room," he said conversationally. "I began my studies here before moving into the Hall of Prophecy." Albus gazed around in wonder at the myriad of clocks as they slowly made their way down a narrow passageway toward a second door. James seemed equally interested behind him.

"And here is where you father found his prophecy," continued Dumbledore, pushing open a second door and leading them into a cavernous chamber. There were several large shelves to the right, each of which held hundreds of glowing orbs; to the left were row upon row of empty shelves, dark and dusty. "This is the Hall of Prophecy, although you will see that the number of prophecies is really quite limited now a days—we used to have thousands."

Albus stopped and stared at the shelves: this was where his father had come to save Sirius Black, believing his godfather had been captured and tortured. This was where he had found the prophecy about Lord Voldemort, where he and his friends had fought the Death Eaters for it—only to lose it in the end.

"This is amazing," James murmured softly beside him. "It's like walking through a piece of family history."

The old Unspeakable chuckled and motioned them to continue through a third door. They crossed the threshold and Albus stopped cold, awestruck by the site before him. He was standing upon a tall cliff, gazing out upon a valley teeming with color: verdant green grass, deep blue lakes, crisp white clouds floating across a sunset sparkling with reds, oranges, and gold. It took his breath away, to find such beauty so deep below the Ministry; the rational part of his mind recognized that magic was at work, but his heart responded to the visceral beauty of the scene nonetheless.

"Yes, it's quite remarkable, isn't it?" murmured Aldred Dumbledore, hands folded behind his back as he too gazed at the scene in wonder. "I am awestruck by the infinite splendor of the universe each time I enter. Now." He turned to Albus, a serious look on his face. "The spell is complex and may take several tries; there are Unspeakables who have yet to succeed in casting it. Do you have your wand?"

"I do," interjected James, taking Albus's wand from his cloak and handing it to his brother. Dumbledore merely raised his eyebrows and nodded; Albus wasn't sure whether to be grateful the trip wasn't a waste, or irritated that his brother had gone into his room and taken his wand. He idly wondered what had happened to the Elder Wand.

"Good. This room was created with a bit of help from Muggle science. We, of course, did the decorating," he winked. "We also created the spell that activates the room's powers. The curious thing, however, is that the spell responds differently to each person. I have no idea how the room will present your future, but it will be unique unto you. Just remember that it is safe, and that ultimately your destiny is yours to determine: you are simply being shown some choices."

"Have you tried it?" Albus asked quietly, still staring around him in amazement.

"Naturally," Dumbledore replied. "The spell is mine. Are you ready, then?

Albus nodded; what did he have to lose, if he had already lost hope?

"Then repeat after me, without your wand: _Ostende mea fortuna_!"

"Reveal my destiny," murmured Albus. He tried it out on his tongue, and felt a strange power coalesce around him with the three simple words, far more than if casting a spell anywhere else.

"Good. You feel the room's magic, do you not? And now the wand motion." Dumbledore demonstrated a complicated twist that ended with his wand pointing straight up into the sky; after several tries, Albus felt he had it well enough to attempt the spell.

"And now we must go, as you alone must cast the spell without the interference of others. I wish you luck, Albus Potter, and hope that you discover what you seek." He bowed and indicated to the others that they needed leave; both James and Sarah seemed reluctant, however.

Albus couldn't help but smile at the worried look on their faces. "I'll be fine," he reassured them.

Sarah hugged him once more, but James only nodded, his face still serious. "I'll be right outside," he said. "Be careful."

"I will." Albus turned back to the spectacular view, feeling oddly free. He heard the door shut behind him and turned to find it had blended into the mountain behind him. He went to the edge of the cliff and looked down; reckless exhilaration filled him, and he sat on the rocks, letting his legs dangle over the edge.

He sensed a great peace here, and wondered what it was about the magic in the room that freed a person's soul. Albus contemplated not even using the spell he had been given; but the darkness at the edge of his mind lingered, however distant it might be at the moment, and he knew he had to try if he were to be truly free of it. He pulled out his wand and studied it: birch, ten inches, with a single unicorn hair. He almost wished James had left it at home; it had been a good wand, yet now it felt tainted by the things he had done with it.

Albus hesitated; whereas moments before he had been worried that his future might actually show him happiness, now he wondered if the wand were warped, and if it would show him a future too terrible to face.

Or what if it showed him nothing at all?

Calling upon his Gryffindor heritage, Albus stood and raised his wand to the sky. "_Ostende mea fortuna_!" he cried, his heart pounding. He felt the room's magic begin to swirl around him, as if an enormous vortex of energy were gathering him in its power. He sensed an immense force behind him and stood to face his future.

* * *

End Notes:

Thank you once again to my wonderful beta, laceymoibella! And thank you to Karaley Dargen for her help with the spell in the Hospital Wing. The next chapter is quite a bit longer: Albus has a lot to see and explore in the Realm of Possibilities, after all. Thank you for reading—leave a note, yeah?


	6. Chapter 6 Journey

Chapter Six – Journey

Albus Potter gazed into the deep golden eyes of a pristine unicorn, and for a moment, his heart stopped beating in wonder and terror.

The exquisite creature moved toward him, long legs moving gracefully, flank muscles rippling with strength. The unicorn's coat was glossy white, with a luminous sheen that seemed to move the very air around it when it shook its long mane. A single horn dipped toward Albus in acknowledgment, and when the unicorn raised its head again, Albus felt his heart began to beat once more.

"Greetings, Albus Severus Potter." The unicorn's mouth did not appear to move, and yet the deep, layered voice was clearly coming from the magical creature in front of him. Albus did not know how to respond and merely nodded; he imagined the look on his face must be one of surprise and shock.

The unicorn tossed back its head and made a sound like a laugh. "It is okay, young one. I am not here to harm you."

"You're my guide," said Albus, not sure whether he was asking a question or making a statement.

"I am," replied the unicorn. "Although, if this form makes you uncomfortable, I can take another."

"You can?" Albus felt his eyes widen as his Ravenclaw curiosity got the better of him, and he wondered what shape the unicorn might take.

To his continued amazement, the unicorn blurred into the shape of a man: Aldred Dumbledore, the Unspeakable who had brought him there. "Of course, Albus," it said, speaking with Dumbledore's voice. "This is the Realm of Possibilities—anything is possible."

Dumbledore became his cousin, Rose Weasley. "At least for me, as I have been summoned to lead you on this journey. You will have to maintain your own form, I am afraid."

Rose morphed into his father, green eyes filled with the same worry and concern that Albus had seen at home. "Come, let us begin, so that we may explore your future paths and put your troubles behind you."

Albus was stunned silent for a moment as he gazed at his father. Guilt and shame bubbled up within him: guilt for the attack, shame for what he had put his father through. He shook his head and looked away. "Not him. Please."

His father raised an eyebrow, but nodded in acknowledgment. "Of course. What about this form?" Albus felt his heart stop again as his father slowly became the form of his lost partner, Marcum.

"No!" he cried and turned his back, even though he desperately wanted to reach out to the figure in front of him. His experience with the Stone, however, had taught him that he could not bring the dead back to life, and he did not want a shape-shifting unicorn taking Marcum's place.

"I apologize, Albus Potter," said the voice of the unicorn. Albus turned back and found the golden eyes of the unicorn filled with liquid sympathy. "I did not realize it would cause you such pain, given your strong desire to see him again." The unicorn lowered its head and touched him with its horn. Albus felt the stinging grief in his body slowly flow away, though a lingering sadness still remained. He nodded in thanks, but did not speak.

"I will remain with this form, then," continued the creature. "Now, are you ready for your journey?"

Albus closed his eyes; once more he was being asked to choose, and once more he questioned whether or not he was ready. Now that he was literally looking his future in the face, he wondered whether he could accept what he might see, for good or for bad. Memories of the last months—searching in the forest, the confrontation with his father, his final meeting with Marcum, and the endless days and nights since he had been released from St. Mungo's—spurred him forward, and he made his decision: he would continue.

"Yes, I am," he replied.

"Then walk with me," the unicorn commanded, and turning, he lead the way toward a path Albus had not noticed before. _Of course_, he thought. _I hadn't cast the spell yet._The unicorn neighed in confirmation.

The path led down the cliffside; it was not steep, but wandered lazily toward an unseen destination. It took several turns and appeared much longer than Albus would have guessed when he had first entered the room. He immediately recognized the symbolism: the future took many twists and turns as the path stretched forward, unseen, before you.

"You have suffered a terrible loss," the unicorn said as they walked. "You have not only lost someone who was very important to you, but a part of yourself as well. You have forgotten your way and do not know how to continue forward."

Albus frowned, because the unicorn was simply stating the obvious; hearing it out loud did not make it suddenly easier to move on with his life and begin the healing process he knew he needed. His family had said the same thing many times, and yet he had found himself in darker and darker places as he struggled forward.

"Do not get angry, Albus Potter," said the unicorn, turning its golden eyes on him once more. "I am not here to encourage anger and bitterness, but acceptance and understanding. Closing your mind now will only limit the possibilities we are able to explore."

"I know," Albus grumbled, embarrassed at being chastised for his thoughts; he should have realized that they would have been fully available to his guide if the magic in the room were truly able to show him his future.

Albus continued to walk silently next to the unicorn, ashamed and apprehensive and curious all at once. As they came around the first bend in the path, he was surprised to see a clearing to his left where a single house stood: his parents' house. It was as if he had walked onto the set of one of the Muggle movies he sometimes watched with his father. It was almost unreal, seeing the house where he grew up on a mountainside deep within the Department of Mysteries.

Unsure what to do, Albus looked to his guide. The unicorn nudged him forward, toward the house, but stayed behind as Albus made his way to the door and entered, uncertain what he might find . . .

* * *

_"I'm fine, James. Don't worry."_

_Albus stood in his room, gazing out the window into the backyard. His back was stiff and his hands were balled into fists at his sides. James sighed as he moved closer._

_"I_

_amworried, and so are Mum and Dad. You've been home for months, and yet you've hardly left the house. You need to go out. Let's go to a Quidditch match, or to the Burrow and pick on Hugo a bit—"_

_"I said no, James," Albus snapped, rounding on him, his face red with anger. "I'm not interested."_

_"You're not interested in anything!" James exclaimed. "I thought you might be better after the Department of Mysteries, but nothing's changed. You're still so angry."_

_Albus gave him a cold stare. "I'm sorry if that offends you, but I have every right to be angry."_

_"Aren't you tired of it?" James asked matter-of-factly. "Can't you feel it poisoning you? All you do is snap at us—I feel like I hardly know you these days!"_

_"Maybe you don't," replied Albus. "Please leave. I don't need your help again."_

_"Al—"_

_"Get out!" shouted Albus, and with a flick of the wand he whipped out of his robes, he sent James through the door and into the hallway, and slammed the door behind him. He did not see the look of anguish on his brother's face . . ._

* * *

Albus left the house and thought about what he had just seen: a future in which he had returned from the Department of Mysteries still unable to deal with his pain and anger. He readily understood how it might happen; he felt the anger close to the surface and still felt the same worry of it taking over every day. Having now seen it from afar—and having witnessed the pain he caused his brother—he knew he did not want to leave carrying the burden of that anger with him anymore.

"It's your choice," the unicorn said. "Would you like to see what else may await you? Simply continue forward if you do not wish to live that life."

Albus nodded and continued down the path. He was silent as he walked, thinking about what other possibilities his future might hold. The next clearing appeared on their left again and surprised him even more: the dark buildings and shady doorways of Knockturn Alley. He had visited it often enough to recognize the Hag's Rest. He saw several wizards exit the pub, including himself. He was only a few years older this time . . .

* * *

_"Back off, Warrington!" hissed Albus, pushing the man away. "I did what you wanted, now leave me alone."_

_Rhys Warrington raised an elegant eyebrow and smirked. "You think torturing a few Muggles again makes you one of us? Grow up, Potter—we need more. I wanted them dead."_

_"I can't," whispered Albus, shaking his head and backing away. There were several wizards behind him who stopped his retreat, laughing. Albus looked frightened and pale in the shadowy light reflecting off the dirty windows of the alley._

_"Then you are nothing but a liar and a coward." Warrington strode forward until he was face to face with Albus. "You know what you believe, what you feel: let go of your fear! Once you do, the possibilities are endless! Think what you could do!"_

_Warrington trailed one long finger down Albus's cheek before turning abruptly. "Bring him in!"_

_Two masked wizards appeared, dragging a semi-conscious man between them. One of them grabbed the man roughly by his dark hair, and Albus was not surprised to see it was one of the thugs who had killed Marcum three years ago. He glanced blankly around the circle, until his eyes came to rest on Albus and widened in shock._

_"Do it," murmured Rhys in his ear. "Take his life. He deserves it. He's lived too long as it is."_

_Albus drew his wand, but hesitated._

_"For Marcum," hissed Warrington. "For us."_

_Albus took a deep breath and raised his wand . . ._

* * *

Albus didn't stop to see what his future self would do; he feared he would be sick if he did. He remembered too well his trips to Knockturn Alley and how easy it had been to be lured into that life, how hard it had been to turn away. Only the Hallows had saved him, and only by replacing one obsession with another. Having failed to find what he sought with the Resurrection Stone, Albus knew it was possible he might return Knockturn Alley to fill the void. It was not, however, something he wanted, now that he had witnessed how far it could take him.

Grimly determined not to become the person he had just seen, Albus continued down the path without waiting for his guide. He was not surprised when he turned another corner to come upon a third clearing on the right. There was no house he knew, but a small cottage surrounded by a well-kept garden. Two people were walking out toward the front gate: his sister Lily, and an older version of himself . . .

* * *

_"Al," said Lily, "I think you should come. Everyone wants to see you. You can't keep saying no every time someone gets married or has a baby. We miss you—you're family. Please come."_

_Albus shook his head as he walked her to the end of the sidewalk. His face was several years older and infinitely sadder. "I'm sorry, Lily. I just don't feel up to it. Give Hugo my congratulations. I'll see the baby another time."_

_Lily shook her head and stomped her foot, much as she had when she was younger. "Al, you haven't been to a family party in years! It's not the same without you."_

_Albus smiled sadly. "I don't see why, since you've had years to get used to it. I'm happier here."_

_"You don't look like it," she stated bluntly. "You look terrible."_

_"It's my work."_

_"It's depression," she replied._

_With a shrug, Albus just turned and walked away; he had given up arguing with his family years ago. "You sound like Rose. Tell her I said 'Hi' and give the twins a kiss for me."_

_He heard Lily sigh as she left the yard and Apparated to the Burrow for yet another Weasley gathering . . ._

* * *

The vision left Albus saddened: though he recognized the person he had become in the vision, he did not wish to isolate himself from others and become that lonely man living by himself. His family had stood by him for over a year, and he could not let them down now by pushing them away forever.

Was this truly his future? A life of bitterness, of hatred, of loneliness? How could it be that there was nothing to look forward to, no hope? Had he truly become so lost, that he had so little to live for?

A part of him suddenly wanted to outrun the unicorn, leave behind this awful trip into a future full of darkness and depression. Yet abruptly he stopped and whirled on the magical beast, who gazed back at him with placid eyes.

"Why are you showing me this?" he demanded. "It's terrible—all of it! I don't want to live that life—I'd be better off having finished it in the cemetery!"

The unicorn continued walking, pausing only to turn its head and motion him forward. "I am only showing you what is possible, not what will be. You know you carry a great anger within you. It is what shapes you most right now: your anger. Until you accept that anger and understand its source, the path will show you only those futures."

Albus stopped in his tracks, stunned. What he had felt as guilt and shame was indeed a great anger; yet he was not angry with the killers or with Marcum—he was angry with himself. He blamed himself for everything that had happened: for initiating a relationship with Marcum, for walking home that night, for drawing his wand, for failing to protect his partner, and failing to get him to St. Mungo's fast enough. He was even more angry with himself for all that he had done since. His anger fueled his guilt, and his guilt fueled his shame.

And yet . . . it wasn't his fault that Marcum had died. He had only chosen how to respond to it, and he could change that.

The realization hit him like a spell, and he could only attribute the sudden, clear understanding as a side effect of the room, or perhaps the subtle inspiration of his guide. With this insight came not the flood of relief he would have expected, but a slowly spreading feeling of wholeness. It was as if he had purged the darkest part of himself by accepting the cause of his anger.

"Simple and yet not so simple," nodded the unicorn. "Come, your heart may lead you down other paths now."

The unicorn turned and began taking a new path that had mysteriously appeared to the right. Albus shook his head in wonder and followed. He found himself wondering what he might see after such an important shift in thought. He hoped it was something worth living for, yet he already felt so much lighter that whatever he saw, he knew it wouldn't hold him back in the past now.

They passed a large boulder, and Albus stopped to watch a new scene unfold around the corner. He didn't appear much older, for there was a still a lingering sadness in his eyes . . .

* * *

_Albus walked through the atrium at the Ministry of Magic, his step steady, and his shoulders straight. He stayed focused as he walked, nodding to the various witches and wizards who welcomed him, uncomfortable with their reception even though he was glad to be back. When he came to the guard at the entrance, he smiled and handed over his wand._

_"Welcome back, Al," said the guard. "It's been a while."_

_"It really has, Jack," replied Al, gripping hands with him. "Almost a year. It's good to see you. How are things here?"_

_Jack laughed as he waved Albus through the golden gates. "Same as usual, although the break-ins have started again. You may see extra security around, especially toward closing time."_

_Albus nodded. "I'll make sure I clock out on time, then," he said and continued toward the lifts that would take him to his former office on the third floor. He felt lighter for the friendly exchange and bounced on his heels in anticipation as he waited._

_The lift he entered was half full of Aurors, none of whom he recognized. It had been a year, after all, and he would probably meet new faces in his own department as well. He nodded to them as he pressed the button for his floor. A tall, dark-haired man with clear blue eyes smiled in return, and Albus couldn't help but feel a small spark of excitement as their eyes connected . . ._

* * *

The thought of returning to work was daunting; he had left his job when his obsession with the Resurrection Stone had become all consuming, and he feared what people might say when he came back. He had also worked with Marcum at the Ministry and knew it would be difficult to return alone. Yet this future showed him that it was not only possible, but that he could do it with grace and perhaps find joy in it once again.

He continued walking, his spirits continuing to improve. He stopped abruptly as he turned a corner and came upon a scene that stopped his heart . . .

* * *

_"Dad!" cried a small boy with messy blond hair. He was standing behind a tree at the Burrow with his eyes covered. "Come and find me!"_

_Albus stood not far away, next to a familiar-looking man with dark hair and clear blue eyes. They were talking with Rose Weasley as the bustle of a Weasley gathering swirled around them. He excused himself from the conversation and set out after the young boy. "Here I come, ready or not!"_

_"You too, Dad!" cried the child, and the dark-haired man with blue eyes laughed and joined the hunt with Albus. Together they snuck up on either side of the tree and grabbed the boy in a bear hug, filled with tickles and giggles._

_"We found you!" Albus exclaimed, setting him down. "See if Uncle Hugo can find you this time." The boy ran off calling for his uncle, and Albus and his partner returned to their conversation with Rose._

_"He's doing so well," observed Rose with a smile. "You two are doing a great job."_

_"We're very lucky," replied the dark-haired man, putting his arm around Albus's shoulder. "He's just a great kid, plain and simple."_

_"I still can't believe he was in a Muggle orphanage," she continued. "I can't imagine a wizard growing up like that. I'm so glad Kingsley was able to arrange things for you. You are perfect dads."_

_They watched the young boy chasing his uncle and were happy to agree . . ._

* * *

It was the last thing he would have expected: a future in which he had not only found love and companionship, but a family as well. Albus had never even considered the idea of becoming a parent; it was both shocking and terrifying. Yet the young boy from his vision instantly grabbed his heart, and Albus knew deep down it was right—it was his future. He could do it, he could be a father, and he would do so with the dark-haired man whose blue eyes were clear, so unlike Marcum's deep brown ones.

The unicorn neighed and shook his mane, as if it felt Albus's growing joy at the possibilities his future might bring. A growing confidence filled him, though even as he recognized his burgeoning hope, he felt a touch of guilt for betraying the memory of Marcum. Was it right for him to move on, to live a life full of love and happiness without the man he thought he would be spending it with? How could he replace Marcum and move on with someone else? Could he live with himself if he did?

As he doubted himself, the path turned left and opened onto a field. It was the field where Marcum was buried, and a large gathering of mostly red-haired figures were huddled together under the oak tree. Albus looked curiously to the unicorn, who nudged him forward.

As Albus neared his family, he saw a second grave next to Marcum's. They were not much older than they were when he had begun his journey, and an air of sorrow surrounded the sad group. His mother laid a white lily upon the new grave before turning to his father's embrace. Albus's heart stopped in his throat and he stumbled slightly; he knew who lay there next to Marcum and could not go any closer.

"What happened?" he demanded of the unicorn. "I just saw a future where I returned to work, met someone, had children. How is that possible if I die so soon?" He was shaking; he did not want to die, to cause his family the pain and heartache he was now witnessing. He turned his back on the scene, refusing to watch his own funeral.

The unicorn touched him with its horn, and once again Albus felt its calming affect. They moved away from the scene, and the unicorn spoke. "Your uncertainty revealed another path to explore. You need not see it through; you control your thoughts, and your thoughts control your destiny. Cast out your doubts, and you cast away the possibility of that particular life."

Albus nodded. It made sense, and yet it was so hard: he clung to those doubts as if clinging to a lifeboat in a sea of uncertainty. He hesitated because he did not want to forget Marcum; his guilt kept him tethered to memories of the past he did not want to dishonor or lose to a new life.

What had seemed so simple just moments ago was once again far more complicated. Albus sighed, his blossoming hope clouded by endless emotions he could not sort or settle. He began to fear his trip to the Realm of Possibility had been for naught.

"It was not for nothing," the unicorn said, reading his thoughts. "You have seen a future you do not wish you live, as well as one you can. You leave the Realm with the knowledge of how your choices and actions will affect the course of your life."

"Leave?" asked Albus, confused. He glanced around and saw that somehow they had made their way back to the top of the cliff from which they had begun their journey. He had not felt any uphill ascent, and knew the magic of the room must be at work once more. As he glanced out at the magnificent view one last time, he saw stars dotting the dark sky. Behind him, the cliff wall shimmered to reveal the doors leading to the Department of Mysteries, as well as whatever future his choices would bring.

"Our time is over, Albus Potter. I have enjoyed traveling with you. I believe your future is in good hands." The unicorn bent one knee to him, and Albus nodded his head in wordless thanks. He did not feel the creature's confidence, but would not betray his disappointment in a more concrete resolution to his troubles. He turned to leave, his steps reluctant.

"You will find your way," the unicorn said softly. "The path is before you, you have but to follow your heart."

Albus felt a crooked smile on his lips as he passed through the doors. It sounded so cliché, yet he recognized a great truth in what the unicorn said. Indeed, he felt a certain freedom with the words: perhaps he should follow his heart, his feelings, his instinct. He did not need to think and analyze every decision he made to see where it would take him; perhaps he should have faith that it would lead him where he was meant to go, because the more he thought about things, the more confusing they became.

As the doors shut behind him, Albus placed a hand on them and said a silent thank-you to his guide. He turned and was surprised to see that he was not in the Time Room, where he had entered the Realm, but rather in a long corridor, dark and silent. He expected it was another part of the magic of the room, that the entrance was the exit as well, and set off down the corridor in search of James, Sarah, or Aldred Dumbledore.

He found them in a room full of brains, deep in a discussion that stopped abruptly when he entered.

"Al!" exclaimed Sarah, turning with a smile on her face. "That was quick. Is everything okay?"

Albus felt as if he had been gone for hours, and looked quizzically at Aldred Dumbledore. The Unspeakable smiled and nodded.

"You feel as if you've been gone far longer than you really have?" When Albus nodded, he continued. "Yes, it is the magic of the room. It has been less than an hour since we left you, though you might feel otherwise."

Albus just nodded silently once more as he glanced around the strange room, his mind full.

James came up and touched his shoulder. "You okay?" he asked, his eyes full of concern.

"I'm okay," Albus replied. "What's this place?"

"It is the Brain Room," answered Dumbledore. "I believe your uncle had a bit of an adventure here."

"This is where Uncle Ron was attacked by thoughts," James said, looking around in wonder. "More family history."

Albus turned and gazed directly at his brother when he heard the word 'family.' Something clicked: he wanted to go home, he wanted to apologize and be with them and move on. He did not want to hurt them anymore, whether with his anger or his sadness. "I'm ready to go," he said, and he heard the resolution in his voice.

James smiled and clapped him on the back. Albus was surprised to see the depth of emotion in his eyes. "Great. Let's go."

Dumbledore led them back into the corridor. "I sense the Realm showed you a great many things," he offered as they made their way back to the entrance. "I hope that whatever you saw has helped you on your way."

They came to a grey door and stopped. Albus took Dumbledore's hand and shook it warmly. "It has indeed. Thank you very much. You've helped me in more ways than you could know."

Dumbledore smiled, his eyes warm with understanding. "I am glad, then. Be safe, and be well." He shook hands with James, nodded to Sarah, and left them alone.

Sarah threw her arms around Albus, hugging him tightly. "I'm so happy for you, Al," she whispered. "Thank you for coming, it means a lot to James."

"Thank you," he whispered back, kissing her on the cheek. "I know you took a risk to bring me here, and I appreciate what you've done for me and my family."

She nodded, eyes bright. Giving James a quick kiss on the cheek, she indicated the door in front of them. "This will take you back to the entrance room. Simply tell the room you wish to leave, and the door to the exit will open. You can Apparate home directly from there."

James nodded. "Thank you," he said and opened the door. The room was dark, lit only by the same blue light Albus remembered from when they had arrived.

"Oh, and remember—we've had some break-ins," she warned. "Don't go exploring, and don't leave by the Atrium. I'd hate to have you picked up for trespassing after-hours and have to explain that to the Aurors on duty tonight."

"We'll be okay," James said. "See you tomorrow." He motioned Albus into the entrance room. The door immediately shut behind them, and the room began to spin. Albus tried to concentrate on the exit, willing the room to show him the correct door.

When the room stopped, he placed his hand on the door to his right, but hesitated. Something pulled at him, a whispering in the back of his mind that he hadn't heard when they had first arrived. He glanced at James, who simply shrugged, as mystified as he was by the Department of Mysteries.

He pushed open the door to the left instead, not thinking, just following his heart.

He was looking down into a cavernous chamber. It was lined with stone benches that wound their way around the rectangular space. The room was dark except for a dim light shining on a dais set at the bottom of the benches. There was large stone archway on the dais, with a tattered black curtain fluttering oddly in the cold, still air.

The whispering grew louder.

Albus stepped out onto the topmost bench, a feeling of nervous wonder stopping his breath. James stood beside him, and Albus could feel his brother's fear and uncertainty.

"This is where Sirius Black died," murmured James. "We shouldn't be here. Let's go." He turned to go back into the revolving room, but Albus did not follow.

"Wait," said Albus, still staring downward. "Can't you hear them? There's no one here, but they are whispering . . ." He let his voice trail off as he began to work his way down toward the dais. James grabbed at his arm, his eyes wide.

"Al! There are no voices. This isn't safe—the Ministry doesn't know we're here, they might think we're breaking in! Let's go," he repeated. His voice was strained, and Albus frowned.

"You don't hear them? I'm sure they are coming from that archway. Come on." He shook off his brother and continued down the steps. He sensed James behind him, following reluctantly. When he came to the dais, he stopped and stared. The black curtain was mesmerizing, and the whispering grew more intense.

With slow steps, he made his way up the dais toward the archway. James stayed behind, as if guarding his brother's private moment. The archway was large and crumbling, and a deep sense of otherworldly magic emanated from the stones themselves. Almost reverently Albus touched the cold rock, spellbound by the whispering that fluttered around him.

"It's the veil," he breathed. "The veil between life and death."

The spell was abruptly broken by a loud shout from the top of the room. Albus turned at the harsh sound behind him, momentarily confused. A wizard from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement stood at the top of the stone steps, his wand drawn as he slowly made his way down.

"Back away from there," barked the wizard on the steps. Albus looked at James, who gave him a small nod. Albus sighed and turned back to the archway, a sudden longing to step through the veil and join Marcum filling his heart.

"I said, move it!" shouted the wizard, who was now at the bottom of the dais with his wand pointing straight at Albus.

Albus glared at him and snapped, "When I'm ready, git!" He put his hands in his pockets, thinking about drawing his wand; the wizard accosting them shouted again.

"Everything okay in there?" asked a second Auror from the top of the stairs. He had dark hair and clear blue eyes.

James would remember what happened next for the rest of his life: Albus turned, another hot retort on his tongue, but gasped when he saw the second Auror and pointed. The wizard accosting them slashed through the air, no doubt thinking Albus was about to attack, and sent a stream of red light at Albus.

Albus was Stunned on the shoulder and should have fallen to the floor unconscious, but as he fell his body twisted, and his arm slipped through the veil.

"NO!" screamed James as he raced toward his brother. It was as if Albus were falling in slow motion: his arm crossed the invisible barrier between life and death, and his body followed, until he had disappeared through the veil.

Gone forever.

* * *

End Notes:

What can I say? This is where the story led me from the beginning. Many thanks to my alpha reader laceymoibella, who encouraged me to continue and made many wonderful points. I have changed one character from the original, as my head canon has changed a bit over the years. This story will conclude in the next chapter. My thanks for reading.


	7. Epilogue

Epilogue

_Gone forever._

"You bastard!" James shouted as he lashed out at the wizard who had just killed his brother. With a vicious snarl, he hurled a jet of purple light at him, followed closely by a Blasting Curse that sent the man flying backwards to land limply upon the steps. The second Auror raced down to help, raising his wand at James. James brandished his own wand to cast another curse, but a familiar voice on the air stopped him.

"It's okay, James."

The dark-haired wizard tending his injured colleague looked around in surprise. James ignored him and ran over to the archway. He laid his hands on it, listening desperately for the voice again, but there was only devastating silence. He leaned his forehead against the cold stone, his breathing ragged as he felt the terrible sobs building in his chest.

"No, no, no . . ." he whispered. "Not now, not after all this."

His hand came to a rest on a small bump in the rock and from there fell to the pocket where he still kept the Resurrection Stone, even after so many months. Without even thinking, he took it out and turned it three times. It should work: he knew he didn't need the other Hallows, and perhaps being so close to the veil itself would truly bring Albus back.

A breeze fluttered through the curtain, and James stepped back, expecting his brother to come through, alive and smiling. Instead, he sensed something behind him and turned to find a ghostly light coalescing into a human form.

Marcum.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, confused. "You're not Albus, I didn't call you…" He trailed off as Marcum nodded in understanding.

"I know," he said, "but Albus just crossed over, James. He's with someone else at the moment. I'm sure he wants to say goodbye, though."

"Goodbye?" said James. "What do you mean 'goodbye'? I turned the Stone, he's supposed to come back!"

Marcum gazed at him with both pity and understanding. "James, didn't you tell Albus the same thing about me? That he couldn't bring me back, that he had to move on? You know he wouldn't want this kind of existence," he continued, gesturing at his ethereal form. "Don't force him to live this way. Let him go."

"No," murmured James, dashing tears from his eyes. "This is different. He wasn't supposed to die, not now!"

"Neither was I," Marcum reminded him.

"Nor was I," added an unfamiliar voice.

A second man materialized next to Marcum, a man who looked remarkably familiar to James: he had messy black hair and glasses like his father's. For a moment James felt a surge of panic: he thought perhaps his father had died while they were gone. He quickly realized it was his namesake—his grandfather, who had been killed long before he was even born.

"Hello, James," said his grandfather, smiling sadly. "It's nice to meet you. You've done our name proud."

James just nodded, speechless. It was like a family reunion, and yet the one family member he most wanted to see had not appeared yet.

"Albus is with your grandmother right now, James," said his grandfather. "You shouldn't have called for him so soon. He's just passed through the veil and really shouldn't return."

"It's okay, grandfather," said a third voice, and James felt his heart stop as Albus finally appeared. He was more than a ghost, but not flesh and blood. "Really, it's okay. I understand—I used it too, you know."

"It's not okay!" James shouted. "This wasn't supposed to happen! You were supposed to come here and find something to live for—you were supposed to see your future, not your death!"

"But this is my future, and I did see it," Albus said softly. "I just didn't think it would happen so soon, or in such a . . . peacefully ironic manner."

"Peacefully ironic?" asked James. "What the hell does that mean? What did you see? You never even had a chance to tell me." Perhaps if he had known what might happen, it would be easier to believe that Albus had fallen. Perhaps he would not be so shocked, so stunned.

Albus nodded. "I know, and I'm sorry. It just happened so fast. I saw so much, James, it was amazing. I saw myself a lonely man, an angry man, a cruel man. I also saw myself happy, back at work, and a father. And I saw my funeral, though I didn't see how it happened."

"You didn't see. . . this?" James asked, motioning at the stone archway. He was desperate for answers. He could not accept that Albus was dead, not when he was standing right there in front of him, talking and smiling.

"Not exactly," said Albus. "If I had, maybe I would have done things differently. Maybe I would have chosen the other door. This is just the way it's meant to be. It's okay," he repeated.

It was not okay, and it never would be. James had not spent long hours searching for the Stone, and longer hours by Albus's bedside, to lose him now. He could not stand the idea of losing a brother—he would not. And he did not have to accept it, for he had the ability to change things.

Albus frowned as if he were reading James's mind. "Please don't keep me here, James," he said softly. "I have to go—I have no choice."

"You want to go, you've wanted to go ever since Marcum died!" James shouted. "How could you leave us, after all we've been through? How could you choose death over life—him over us?" And there it was: the anger of loss, bursting forth from a place James didn't even know existed. In one blazing instant, he understood everything his brother had gone through after Marcum's death.

"You're right," Albus replied, his voice slightly unsteady. "I did want to die, but you saved me. You showed me that was wrong. You brought me here and showed me a future I could live for."

"Then live, dammit!" James cried. He stopped and stared longingly at his brother, reaching out to him; his hands passed through empty space. "Please."

Albus glanced at his grandfather for support, his eyes full of sorrow. He took a deep breath. "I can't," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

James turned away, his chest heaving with both grief and anger. At the top of the room he saw the door open, and Sarah came through, followed closely by Aldred Dumbledore. Though he alone had turned the Stone, they could clearly see the ghostly forms standing before him: he heard Sarah gasp when she saw the scene on the dais, and she flew down the stairs before Dumbledore could stop her.

She took him in her arms. He could have never imagined that losing someone would cause such physical pain, but it twisted his insides until he thought he would collapse from it. He clung to her as his only support, the only thing that kept him from falling to the ground. When he finally turned around, both Marcum and his grandfather had gone.

"Hi Sarah," said Albus softly. "Take care of him, okay?" She just nodded, tears streaming down her face. "It's time, James. You have to let me go."

"I can't," he whispered. "Mum and Dad will be devastated. And Lily—" he choked back the words, unable to even contemplate how hard it would be to tell his family that Albus was gone.

"I know," Albus replied, his voice breaking this time. "I'll miss them, too. Tell them I'm sorry."

"Albus, I—" James started. He wanted to say so much, but his brother stopped him.

"I know."

James could only nod, his throat tight, his eyes stinging. Beside him Sarah looked away and stifled her own sobs. Albus smiled and slowly began to fade away. They heard his voice in the air one last time. "Thanks, James. I love you."

A gentle breeze flowed around him, warm and peaceful and filled with love. Somehow James knew it was his brother, sending one last hug before passing through the veil once more. He embraced Sarah before finally turning to leave the archway behind him.

At the top of the stairs, Aldred Dumbledore was talking quietly to the two wizards who had accosted them. The dark-haired man was supporting the wizard James had cursed. He turned to look at James, blue eyes full of sympathy, and gave him small nod of acknowledgement before leading his injured comrade out the door. Dumbledore walked slowly down the stairs, meeting them at the foot of the dais.

"I'm so sorry," he murmured. "Alan tells me something both tragic and remarkable happened here tonight."

James held back a hot retort; the death of his brother did not seem remarkable at all. It was bitter loss he would carry with him the rest of his life. And because he had brought Albus to the Department of Mysteries, he felt the added burden of guilt settle heavily upon his shoulders.

Once more he was tempted to turn the Stone, to beg his brother's forgiveness; yet he knew it was wrong and realized that bearing the Hallow was now an even greater burden than the guilt he felt for his brother's death. He understood why his father had never gone back for the lost ring; he wished he had never entered the Forbidden Forest and found it. Before he could regret it, he took the Resurrection Stone from his pocket and tossed it to Aldred Dumbledore.

"Here, study this," he said, not bothering to keep the bitterness from his voice. "It's better off here. Some people think it's just a myth, but it's worked for my entire family."

Dumbledore turned it around in his hand, a puzzled look on his ancient face. James walked past him without another word and began the long climb up the stairs to the room that would take him back to the exit, to a vastly different life with a family that was now broken. He did not look back, determined to make it to the top before breaking down.

As he entered the blue room, he thought he heard one last whisper behind him. The door shut, and he placed his hand against it with a deep sigh. "Good-bye, Al." His hand fell down to his pocket again, subconsciously looking for the Stone he had just given up.

To his surprise, it had somehow made its way back to his pocket. He did not know whether Dumbledore had sent it back, or whether the Stone had appeared on its own; he even wondered if perhaps Albus had reached out from beyond the veil to return it to him. As the temptation to turn the Stone yet again overtook him, he sank to the floor. Sarah took him in her arms once more, and he sobbed silently until he had no tears left.

James had lost his brother and was left with his grief, his guilt, and the temptation of the Hallows; he could only hope that Albus had found what he was looking for on the other side of the veil and was no longer lost.

* * *

End Notes:

And so the story ends. It may not have been what you were expecting or hoping for, but Albus was never going to return, and James now carries a difficult burden. His future looks rather bleak as well - Quidditch injury, miscarriage, and basically the end of the wizarding world as he knows it.

Thank you so much to laceymoibella for all her hard work and support through this long process. I couldn't have finished it without you! And thank you to everyone else for reading this story. I have worked hard on it and would appreciate any thoughts you might have to share.


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